CSi: IN02: Red Rover
by A Rhea King
Summary: How everyone copes with Nick's near death.
1. Chapter 1

CSI: Crime Scene Investigators  
Red Rover  
By A. Rhea King

_Chapter 1_

Words rung in Catherine's ears like a full marching band had surrounded her: inevitable, unlikely, high risk, multiple fractures, hematoma, internal bleeding…

She finally had to tune out the paramedics and focus on Nick's hand held between both of hers.

It was cold.

Not death cold.

Not the hand of a corpse.

There was still blood pumping through it, but so little that his body was turning inward to keep his core warm and sacrificing his limbs to do it. Blankets didn't seem to do much. His tan skin was so pallid he looked like he should be dead.

At least the skin that wasn't covered by dried blood was. And the blood was everywhere, congealed and dried, the most of it in his hair. She knew what it meant – his meant-to-be-killer or killers had beaten him in the head the most, trying to cave in his skull and kill him. She knew that was their intent based on the reports other law enforcement officers had sent.

What frightened her more was how willing those officers had been to send her their reports, and how fast they had arrived. They knew something about what she was now suffering – they'd lost a good man or woman to whoever had done this to Nick. They probably had held a cold hand like this and had stared at the blood covering their partner or detective or CSI. They probably wished that person would breathe – however labored – like Nick was now. Those shallow, labored breaths breathed hope into her.

Nick was fighting to stay alive. The killer or killers had underestimated him, hadn't they? They didn't know how much Nick loved his life, and how hard he would struggle to keep it. They probably didn't know everything he'd lived through just to resist death now.

Catherine leaned over when the paramedic got up to prepare another bag of blood to replace the one that was nearly drained. She laid her hand over the gauze that masked his face. She felt warm moisture on her skin as the blood began to soak through from the light pressure.

"Don't give up, Nicky," Catherine told him.

She moved back to let the paramedic continue working, squeezing his hand tighter. What was taking the paramedic driving so long to get to the hospital?

#

At the hospital the nurses separated Catherine from Nick, pushing her back at the emergency room doors, telling her to wait in the waiting room; they had to get him into surgery now, she wasn't family, and without saying it, she was going to have to wait and worry alone.

Catherine stared at the closed doors. She found herself hoping that by some miracle they would open, Nick would walk out with a smile and some bad joke, good as new, and they would laugh about all this before walking out to catch whoever had done this to him.

She only moved when Nurse Paula, a nurse that had spent as many years in the E.R. of Sunrise Hospital as Catherine had spent as a CSI, wrapped a caring arm around Catherine and gently guided her to an uncomfortable plastic chair. She sat down next to Catherine and held her hand, occasionally patting the CSI's leg to reassure her.

Catherine could only stare at their hands – part of her wanted to pull away, part of her wanted to break down in tears, and the portion in control right now was too dazed to do either. Nick was practically a son to her. Warrick had been – more. Grissom was her closest friend. She knew she'd lose herself if she lost Nick now.

She felt it.

It was like seeing death lurking just outside your front door, waiting for you to walk out so it could take you. It was a patient thing, this sense of losing sanity. It would wait. It would give her time. If Nick died, it would put on a face she knew, and drag her down with it. It would make her forget her life, her career, her own child. Even now it was whispering to her from the fringes, telling her Nick wasn't going to make it, trying to persuade her to give up this tired fight. It tried to promise her how peaceful her life would be if she would just let go.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

Not until a human shaped like a doctor came and told her Nick was gone.

Catherine numbly accepted a cup of coffee Paula brought her without really seeing it. She heard sounds around her without noticing them. Paula left, probably saying something about her departure, but Catherine didn't hear it.

Catherine didn't notice eight hours had passed or see Gillian Stokes sit down next to her. The woman touched Catherine's arm and she lifted her eyes, staring into a mother's scared and worried face. Was that how she looked too?

"How bad is he?" Gillian asked.

Catherine burst into tears, dropping her forgotten coffee. It made Gillian burst into tears also, and they held each other, unable to do anything else. The tears subsided and emotionally drained the two sat in silence for a long time, staring at the spilt coffee that was slowly drying.

Catherine felt that lurking insanity retreat until it vanished – the tears had cleansed her of it. She longed for word that Nick would make it, but knew if the worst came, she'd survive. She always did. Why should now be any different?

"He wasn't responding when I go there," Catherine finally said. "He didn't come to all the way here. I don't… I can't tell you how long I've even been here."

"It's eight in the morning," Gillian told her.

Catherine slowly nodded. "It's been ten hours."

Gillian eased against the back of her chair. "Do you know who did this yet?"

Catherine hesitated. She didn't want to answer that question. She'd left Greg behind to sort out the details and try to find that out. She didn't want to tell Nick's mother that of the now thirty-eight victims, the only survivor aside from Nick was never going to wake up. And the grim prospect was that if Nick lived, neither would he. His attacker or attackers made sure of that by being very choice about where they beat him.

Catherine decided on the non-committal answer. "I can't discuss the case yet."

Gillian didn't question that. She was a lawyer, she knew the line.

But Catherine's perfect answer shattered when Greg walked into the room.

"I have something," Greg told her. "Mateo's given us a description."

She accidently blurted in front of Gillian, "His accomplices?"

Greg hesitated. He didn't look at Gillian; he didn't look away from Catherine.

"Well?" Catherine asked.

"We haven't questioned him, Catherine. But he insisted on telling us their descriptions. He said Nick told him the descriptions before he lost consciousness."

"My son was conscious?" Gillian asked, moving to the edge of her seat. "He spoke to someone?"

Catherine got up. "Excuse us, Gillian." She grabbed Greg's elbow and guided him outside.

She was almost sickened by how peaceful it was outside. The sun shone bright, the day was gorgeous, the birds chirped loudly in nearby trees, the people were hurrying to work. The world kept turning. One good man clinging to life and near the edge of death meant nothing to the world, and that gnawed on her already worn nerves. The world should be in mourning now, woman should be wailing, men should be wailing. The masses should stop for Nicolas Parker Stokes, and wait in sorrowful anticipation for word of what was to become of him.

"Mateo says Nick was conscious?" Catherine demanded.

Greg nodded.

"He was covered in blood when we go there."

Greg nodded. "He didn't do this to Nick."

"Question him."

"You can't seriously think he did this to Nick! This is Mateo we're talking about."

"Question him. See where the evidence leads you."

Haughty Greg snapped, "Sounds to me like you've already decided it'll say he's guilty."

"Nick had Domingo arrested, and Mateo would have had to roll on Nick to stay in his gang. It makes perfect sense."

"No, Catherine, it makes no sense. You don't know those two. That kid looks up to Nick, and Nick trusted him with his life. Don't damn Mateo for this. I believe he was trying to help Nick. That's what he kept telling me."

"What does the evidence say?"

"Screw the damned evidence! Mateo wouldn't do this to Nick. He wouldn't even stand by and let someone else do it."

She literally took a step back, fighting down the rage that Greg's arguing forced to swell up in her. She wanted to beat someone, anyone, right now. She wanted to scream and to kick the living shit out of something warm and full of life. The anger felt like a fire trapped in a room somewhere inside her chest, just waiting for some unsuspecting fool to grab the door handle and open the door. Then it would roar out, engulfing them, sucking air from their lungs, and destroy them.

"Collect the evidence. Look for clues. Call me when you can give me a straight answer."

"I am giving you a—"

"Greg!" She bit hard on his once-syllable name. She couldn't argue with him anymore. She couldn't even talk to him without her eyes burning, making the world a brighter white. She was too close to losing it right now.

Greg stopped talking, glaring at her.

"I cannot argue with you right now. If you keep this up, I'm likely to punch you just because you're here. Understand me?"

Greg nodded.

"Do your job and get out of my face. Now. Go!"

Greg jogged away, leaving her alone. Catherine started pacing, trying to ease her nerves. She pulled back when someone laid their hand on her shoulder, finding Gillian there.

"He's in ICU. Will you… Can you come up with me?"

Catherine nodded, and the two headed back inside to see Nick.

#

What was waiting for them was the shape of a human entombed in casts and bandages. There wasn't any way of telling if it was Nick, but the nurses seemed certain. Gillian never let go of Catherine's arm. She was trembling, frightened by the sight of her youngest son, her baby. The mother put her free hand to her mouth. It was trembling.

"I thought this job was safe," she whispered. "I thought being a CSI would be safe. I thought my baby boy would never get hurt in this job and that's why I said we should let him go. Let him leave Texas and us and become who he was destined to be. It was because of what he was like when he was younger. He was adventurous, Catherine, but he was always safe. He didn't take the risky chances like other kids, he always knew there were limits." Gillian started crying. "Why does this job keep hurting him?"

Catherine pulled close to her, looking down. She didn't know the answer.

"He is a good man, isn't he?" Gillian asked.

"Yes."

"He does his job? He fights for the good?"

"Always."

"Why would someone do this to him? Why would someone want to kill my baby boy?"

Catherine looked up. Gillian's eyes stared at her, begging for some sensible answer. How many times had Catherine seen that look in people's eyes? But this time, she was the one that wanted answers when none could be found.

"Whoever did this… He's not the first victim."

"The person that did this wasn't arrested? Didn't Greg say he was arrested?"

Catherine shook her head. Although part of her disagreed. She believed Mateo was somehow behind this, but it was better that Gillian didn't know that. Not yet, not now.

"I don't think he was alone when he did this, if he did this. I think someone else helped. And Nick isn't the first."

"A serial killer?"

"We think so."

"How many before my son?"

Catherine didn't want to answer it. Gillian gave her arm a tough yank. She wouldn't take silence for an answer.

"He's thirty-eight."

"And the others… Were they CSI?"

"He's the fifth. The others were police officers or detectives, one coroner, all of them just doing their job, following the evidence. Evidence was the killer or killer's bait." Catherine knew she shouldn't be talking about this to Gillian, but it felt good to tell someone.

"Why was he alone? He wouldn't have followed evidence alone. Not after the last time. He knew better."

Catherine knew then that Gillian didn't really know her son. Ever since he'd been buried alive Nick was much more aggressive about pursuing suspects and evidence, to the point he seemed to be wishing for death. But he wasn't, that was just a change in him. Grissom told her Nick was balancing the shock of facing his mortality with the determination to make sure no one ever suffered like he did. She didn't really understand that, she had come to accept it and label it the act of a good cop – even if Nick wasn't a cop. But that wasn't the case this time. Nick hadn't taken any risks or ran headlong into this. She'd played the dispatch tape enough times to know this as fact – he'd gone into the tunnels with an armed officer at his side. He had been adventurous but cautious, just like Gillian described him as a child.

"He was with another officer, Gillian."

"Where's the officer? Have you asked him about what happened?"

"They murdered him, and then tried to murder Nick."

Gillian burst into tears. Catherine put her arm around her, holding her. It was only seconds before she began crying with her. One biological and one adoptive mother crying over a son that lay broken and unconscious before them.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

Catherine's vigil was fueled with caffeine and poor sleep in the room's recliner. When she wasn't there, Gillian was. She'd invited Gillian to stay with her while she was in Las Vegas. Lindsay hadn't complained once that she had to sleep on the couch while Nick's mother stayed with them. In fact, she'd even made breakfast on several occasions and had done the laundry. She went to her friend's houses to study and left the two women to their solace. Catherine couldn't have been more proud of her daughter and how sensitive she was being about things.

"Catherine," a distant voice called.

A hand gently wrapped around her arm and shook her. She opened her eyes, staring up at Sara's face. It was the last face in the world she expected to see.

"Sara."

Sara smiled, moving back. "You were talking in your sleep."

"How long have you been here?"

"A few hours." Sara turned, walking over to Nick's bed. She took his hand in both of hers. "His eyes open but he doesn't respond."

"He keeps moving between a coma and a vegetative state, but the neurologist…" Catherine had to take a few seconds to hold her breath and keep from crying over the neurologist's news.

Sara turned, watching her. Quietly Sara filled in the unspoken, "Extensive head trauma, bruising of the brain, and crack in the skull. I spoke to his doctor when he came by to check on Nick. He wasn't very optimistic of a recovery."

"He doesn't know Nick," Catherine argued.

Sara turned away without a word. Was it because she agreed or disagreed with Catherine?

"I'm going to be here for a few days, until Gil gets here. Why don't you go home and get some real sleep?"

Catherine didn't move. Not because the offered wasn't inviting, because sleep didn't really come to her at home, either.

"We're still looking for them. It's been two days and we're still looking for them."

Sara again didn't comment. Both women looked up when Brass walked into the room.

"We have to go, Catherine. We found 'em."

Catherine stared at him. It was as if her greatest prayer had suddenly been answered.

"We did?"

Brass nodded. "A motel in Reno. It's out of our jurisdiction, but the county sheriff has agreed to let us collect DNA once they're arrested. We have to go now, though."

Catherine got up, grabbed her coat, and followed him to the door. She stopped and turned back to ask Sara about staying.

Sara met her eyes and smiled, "I'm not going anywhere."

"His mother comes around eight to take over until nine the next morning."

Sara nodded.

Catherine jogged to catch up with Brass. She wasn't about to let these bastards get away with this.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

Grissom entered the halls of the hospital like he had a thousand times or more before. He didn't have to look at the signs to know where ICU was, he knew the route by heart. He held a rucksack on one shoulder, a leather bag worn by miles and years of travel. It softly creaked as he stepped onto the elevator and turned to tap the button for the floor. The ride was quiet and no one stopped it to get on. He had the car to himself the entire trip, giving him time to brace for what he was going to see. Sara had called the night she'd arrived, shortly after Catherine had left. She was in tears about how Nick looked, how he didn't respond, how it wasn't fair someone like him should have to suffer like this. Grissom was worried Sara would have another break down before he got there and do something drastic.

Grissom walked off the elevator into ICU. A circular nurse's station surrounded by ten rooms, giving the men and women working behind it full view of all the patients day or night. A couple glanced up and smiled at Grissom – nurses that knew him – but none of them spoke or tried to stop him. Grissom turned into room four. Sara sat by the bed, staring at Nick's hand that she held in both of hers. She glanced at Grissom, but she didn't get up. Grissom sat his bag against the wall, looking up at Nick.

Even with the bandages, he could tell Nick's face was horribly swollen. Which meant the vital organ inside, his brain, couldn't be doing much better. He was intubated and being monitored closely. His right arm from wrist to shoulder was in a cast, and his right thigh was in a cast. There was nothing hopeful in his appearance.

"He hasn't moved since I got here," Sara said.

Grissom walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her. She wouldn't ask, but he knew she needed it. She laid her head against his arm.

"Look at him, Grissom," Sara said as she started to cry. "Why the hell did they do this to him? I called Greg, I asked him what they said. He told me they wouldn't talk, but that Nick was the thirty-eighth law enforcement person they did this too. Apparently they're cop-haters and there is no rhyme, no reason behind it. I know why I left this job now. Shit like this is just too much!"

Grissom held on tight when she burst into racking sobs. He'd tried to talk her out of coming, but she was determined to be there for Nick. He tried to convince her that Catherine, Greg, even Nick's mother, was here and he wouldn't be alone, but Sara wouldn't hear it. He knew that coming here was the worst thing she could do, but he couldn't stop her. Her friendship with Nick drove her to come back and be with him, and in the end, it was more pain than she'd anticipated. So Grissom just held her, and stared at Nick's bandaged face, and hated the people who had done this to him.

#

Grissom watched Sara sleep in the recliner, balled up under his coat. He turned his head suddenly when Nick's hand gently squeezed on his. He looked up, finding Nick's eyes open. Some god of false hope had swooped in to play a trick on Grissom, but his trick fell short of the truth. Sara had told him that Nick had begun drifting from coma to vegetative state the day before, and the coma state was where he'd been when Grissom had arrived. Seeing Nick's eyes open was a shock.

Grissom stood up from his bedside chair, staring into Nick's eyes. There was no recognition, no light in them, nothing to indicate Nick was actually aware Grissom was there.

"I'm going to go for a little while, Nick. I have to take Sara back to Peru. She can't be here. She can't handle seeing you like this. But I promise I'll come back from time to time." Grissom closed his eyes to hold back his tears. He slowly opened them and finished what he had to say. "You are a fighter, Nick. You always were. Maybe a little passive aggressive, but still, you always fought me when you believed in someone or something, and you never gave up." Grissom leaned in close to where Nick's ear was covered with gauze. "Do not give up, Nick, without a fight. Do not give up."

Grissom pressed his cheek against Nick's temple, unable to stop the tears this time. "Please, Nicky, Pancho… Fight for me."

Grissom resisted the elated feeling when Nick's hand squeezed his. It wasn't a reaction to what he was saying. He knew that. It was just a muscle contraction.

Grissom stood up and let Nick's hand go. He turned to Sara, gently waking her, and guiding her away from this heartbreak. But not before one last look at the door. Nick's eyes remained fixed and unseeing. Grissom's heart broke when he considered that they may stay that way for the rest of Nick's life.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 4_

Catherine strolled down the hall, a stroll she had made every other day for a month and a half. She turned into ICU, heading for room five.

"He's not in here, Catherine."

Catherine stopped and forced herself to turn. Nick had been doing well. He'd been getting better. What had changed?

"What?" Catherine asked. Did she dare let herself sound hopeful?

The nurse that said it smiled. "He regained consciousness for a little while last night. He's pretty out of it with all the medication he's on, but he was able to respond some, so Doctor Lasator moved him to a room. He's in four twelve. I think Greg's there now. He came in to give Nick his weekly shave."

"Thank you." Catherine turned and left at a normal pace.

But reaching the hall she moved faster. A month and a half ago Nick's doctor had warned them this improvement was unlikely to happen. He believed that there had been significant brain damage and Nick would spend his life in a hospital. But he had told Nick's mother a week ago that he saw promising signs – just not promising enough for him to ever leave the vegetative state he'd been in for the last two weeks. Catherine was elated. The doctor was wrong. She had never been so happy to have a doctor be wrong.

#

Catherine walked slowly into the room. Greg was sitting on the edge of the bed, shaving Nick with an electric razor. She smiled, walking up to Greg. He didn't look up – there was a small patch on Nick's left cheek Greg had to get. Nick didn't look any different. The bandages were less, a change that had happened last week. His arm and leg were still in casts, both having signatures and drawings from everyone who had been to visit Nick. He was still pale and his eyes were closed, making him look like he was sleeping.

Greg finished and brushed loose whiskers away. Then he carefully lifted Nick's head. Before he could reach out, Catherine moved around and pulled the towel under Nick's head and shoulders away, careful not to spill any whiskers out. She shook it out over the trash to empty it and then put it on top of a dirty towel in the bathroom. She came back and sat beside Greg, watching him clean out the razor.

The day Nick's bandages had come off Greg had started shaving him every few days. She was grateful for Greg's attentiveness. She smiled when she remembered how everyone in the lab had given him non-stop grief over his last experiment with a mustache, making Nick swear to keep clean shaven for life.

She looked at Greg when he sniffled, discovering he was crying.

"What's wrong?" Catherine asked.

Greg shook his head.

"What is it?"

Greg looked up at her. "He keeps talking to Warrick."

"What?"

"When he's kind of conscious, he talks to Warrick. Like he's right here in the room. He came around for a little bit before you got here, before the morphine kicked in again, and for thirty minutes he was talking to him about basketball. I didn't expect that, Catherine. I… I don't even know what to make of that. How do you deal with something like that?"

"He's just remembering a conversation, Greg. It's just a memory. You have them too, don't you? The memories?"

"I don't talk like Warrick's in the room when I have them."

"You aren't heavily sedated, in excruciating pain, and have bruises on your brain, either. He doesn't know who he is or where he is right now. Just take it with stride."

Greg sighed, wiping away tears. He nodded. "You're right. I just wasn't expecting it is all."

Catherine looked down. If she'd been here alone, she probably would have had a tough time with it too.

They sat for hours, not speaking.

Catherin wondered if Greg had the same hope as she did: any minute now Nick would wake up and he would be his old self. But they were only deluding themselves if he was.

Nick's neurologist gave Nick's parents a warning, and they passed the warning on to her so she could dole it out to who she felt needed it. If or when Nick came to, it was highly unlikely he would be the same person he used to be. It was more likely he would have severe disabilities, perhaps even be unable to speak. Or he may have a completely different personality. There was a slim chance he'd be his old self, but the doctor warned them he wasn't expecting that.

As the doctor put it, "A human brain cannot sustain the damage his did. It has to rewire so much that changes are inevitable. Nick will be different, but there's no telling how different."


End file.
